


Fixation

by Anonymous



Series: Fetish & Fixation [2]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - The French Mistake, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Bottom Jared, Bottom Sam, Brainwashing, Cock Cages, Come Eating, Conditioning, Cursed Sam Winchester, Dildos, Dom Castiel, Dom Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Dom Jensen Ackles, Dom Mark Sheppard, Dom Misha Collins, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Erotic Dreams, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Porn, Semi-Public Sex, So There's No Non-Con Mental Trauma But You Readers Know Better, Soft Cock Kink, Sub Jared Padalecki, Sub Sam Winchester, Technically Non-Con But Neither Sam Nor Jared Realize It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-04-08 10:41:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14103606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Unfortunately for Jared Padalecki, Crowley wanted Sam Winchester - and Jared was the perfect human "voodoo doll" to make it happen. But will the consequences be everything he was hoping for? Continuing whereFetishleft off, this fic will follow the very kinky consequences that Crowley's interference has had on Jared's and Sam's lives. (French Mistake AU)





	1. Sam - Nocturnal Compulsions

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all asked for it, well, here it is. This is the continuation of _Fetish_ , a fic I whipped up for an [SPNKink_meme prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/87796.html?thread=33890548#t33890548) a while back. It's really just going to be an excuse to write a lot of filthy, filthy smut about Jared and Sam getting dominated, humiliated, and fucked in whatever ways my black little heart desires.

Sam wakes up for the third night in a row with a head full of quickly fleeting erotic images from dreams he can't quite remember. He feels warm - maybe feverish, he thinks vaguely - and unsettled. Purposeless. Empty.  
  
And aroused.  
  
It's the middle of the night, he thinks. He needs to sleep more, so he can be fresh and ready to continue looking for Dean in the morning. But he can't even rest. Instead, he tosses and turns, frustrated and anxious.  
  
Maybe he just needs to do something to help him relax, work out the stress. It's been a while since he had the time or inclination to even think about pleasure. But right now...  
  
He lets his right hand wander south, below his waistline, aimlessly trying to recapture the events of his dream as he palms his cock. It feels nice and heavy in his hand, warm and tingling and... soft?  
  
It's not the first time he's been too tired or out of sorts to get an erection. It _does_ feel good, though, almost comforting in its floppiness, so he palms himself a little harder, running his fingers around and under the head, squeezing it gently and then running his hand down the underside toward his balls.  
  
After a few moments, his left hand joins in, sliding below his cock and cupping his balls gently, then tugging them downwards in a move that is just this side of painful. There's a flash of memory then from his dreams. He gasps sharply, remembering the feeling of phantom fingers tugging sharply on him while others plunge in and out of him as he writhes helplessly and sucks–  
  
Unbidden, the hand cupping his balls moves further south. He's – Sam's not _gay_ , not in the slightest... but there have been times he's thought about maybe experimenting a little. About letting his hand slide down his taint, fingers wet with saliva _(just do it don't think about it)_ until it reaches his timid little pucker _(just do it don't think don't)_ and circles around the opening and then _(do it do it do it)_ and _yes right THERE–_  
  
It feels so good and he's so relaxed afterwards that he's asleep before he can fully comprehend that his cock never once got hard, even when he was coming, or that he had instinctively licked his own cum off of his fingers, sucking sleepily on them until every drop had been scooped up and cleaned.  
  
In the morning, it's only the slight lingering soreness when he sits down at his laptop that reminds him it wasn't just a dream.

 

 


	2. Jared - A Change of Scenery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the French Mistake universe, Jared's co-stars and crew have been busy making accommodations for his new lifestyle...

Jensen's prediction proves absolutely accurate: Jared has no need for privacy anymore, because Jared is almost never alone anymore.  
  
He _was_ wrong about Jared's trailer, though. The boys don't get rid of it. Oh, no, in fact, Jared spends more time in it than ever. With all the improvements Mark, Misha, Jeff and Jensen have made to the place, it's become one of the most popular hangouts on the set.  
  
Mark is the one who starts that particular ball rolling when he gets some of the crew to remove the wall between the trailer's bedroom and living room in the name of an epic "prank." Jared's trailer is just one big room now, his king-sized bed prominently on display at one end, and the couches and TV at the other. Even the doors to the bathroom and closet are gone.  
  
Early on, there's a brief discussion between the four as to whether Jared really even needs the bed at all, but in the end they agree that none of them are as young as they used to be, and the bed really _is_ far easier on their knees. For Jared, though, the bed is a privilege, not a right. Jeff brings in a large bean-bag doggy pillow that sits in the far corner, for days when Jared hasn't earned his bed privilege. Misha outdoes him the next day by constructing a sturdy, four-foot-tall cage inside the trailer's walk-in closet, for nights when they are feeling especially strict and Jared doesn't have to make early call the next day.  
  
Once word of the renovations gets out, the whole crew chips in to help. The set construction crew builds Jared a frankly beautiful pair of floor-to-ceiling hutches for the trailer, with glass-door cabinets on the bottom and shelves on the top. The effect is stately and refined, the kind of hutch you'd expect to find fine china displayed within. But Jared has no use for china now; he gets his treats hand-fed from others' plates, or (when no one has time) from the food and water bowls Misha has thoughtfully left in his kitchen.  
  
No, what the hutch holds now is Jared's vast new collection of toys - plugs, dildos, vibrators, sounds, and more leather bondage gear than he could ever hope to wear, mostly contributed by Wardrobe and Makeup, who seem to delight in finding new items to add to his collection. His cuffs, collars, cock rings, and harnesses go in the drawers, but Jeff insists that Jared keep all of the insertable toys on display on the shelves, both for easy access and as a constant reminder of his purpose in life. He's taught Jared to store them carefully and treat them reverently, arranging them by size and utility.  
  
To be honest, some of the larger toys scare Jared, especially the huge dildos that Misha likes to buy from Bad Dragon. Jared's still working his way up to those, although considering how often Misha likes to bend him over and slowly work his entire hand inside Jared, he's sure he'll be able to take them all soon. The man has an absolute fascination with seeing exactly how much he can stuff inside Jared's ass, and for how long. It's rare for Jared to film a scene these days without wearing a plug under all that plaid and denim. Jensen and Misha are especially fond of using the remote-controlled vibrating ones that they can set off in the middle of his lines. He kind of likes it, even though it often makes him flub his lines and have to reshoot the scene. It's nice to know they care. And besides, they usually are thoughtful enough to give him a cock cage with urethra plug so he won't get a wet spot on his jeans.  
  
The other new pieces of furniture in his trailer come compliments of the FX crew: a movable sex sling on wheels and an adjustable fucking machine. Jared is touched at their thoughtfulness; at his height, any kind of furniture needs to be custom-made.  
  
Jared is glad he has the crew's wholehearted support for his new after-hours activities, but he's also glad that for the most part, it's only Jensen, Jeffrey, Mark and Misha who use him. He doesn't mind warming someone's cock from time to time, but he loves his masters, and he's always happiest when he's serving them.


	3. Sam - Discipline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel returns to the bunker and notices something is different about Sam.

The state of the bunker and its sole occupant raises immediate concerns for Castiel.

First off, the place is _filthy_. Burger wrappers, discarded cartons of Chinese take-out, and half-full cups of coffee are scattered throughout the library and map room like some strange tribute to the missing Dean Winchester's notorious appetite. There's a mysteriously vague scent of stale tomato sauce and cheese hanging in the air with no attributable source as if it has just become a permanent part of the ambiance. And in front of Sam, like a barricade between him and the books that have failed him, is a small blockade of mostly-empty Jack Daniel's bottles.

Sam does not look much better than his surroundings. The young hunter is unshaven, malnourished, baggy-eyed and haunted. His clothing is wrinkled, with several noticeable food stains that the normally fastidious man seems unaware or uncaring of, accompanied by the aroma of stale liquor. He's not drunk at the moment, but it's clearly on the agenda for later. At the moment, he's staring blankly up from the book he's reading, his chin resting on his hand, apparently oblivious to the angel's return.

The angel frowns. If the boy is that unaware of his surroundings, how many days has it been since he properly slept – or even _showered_?

"Sam," he begins uneasily, "when w-"

The young hunter startles, bolting upright and glancing around. "What?" His wild eyes alight on Castiel, and he relaxes slightly. "Oh, hey Cas, how are you? Is it Thursday already?" He pinches his nose and rubs his eyes.

Castiel shakes his head. "You didn't check in today. I was worried-"

"Huh?" Before the angel can even take a breath to respond, he barrels ahead. "Oh, sorry about that, I'm fine, I've just been preoccupied-" he holds up his laptop. "Get this-"

Castiel is aware of what "this" is – a grainy security camera photo showing a black Impala parked in front of a bar improbably named Margarita's Tequila Taqueria. It looks like Baby – but so do a lot of other cars.

"I know it's not a lot to go on," Sam says, "but if we send someone over there with his picture-"

" _SAM_ ," Cas says over him, a little crossly, "you handled that yesterday, remember? Jodi's on it."

He blinks once, twice in surprise, the words trickling to a stop. "I... I did?"

Castiel glances over Sam once again, looking at his sunken eyes and sallow complexion. His dirty, rumpled clothing seems to hang off him. He's definitely lost weight.

"Yes, you did," he says, more gently this time. He takes the hunter by the elbow and gently pulls him to his feet, forcing him to leave the laptop on the table. "You are exhausted and distracted, Sam. This is not good for you. When was the last time you slept?"

A weird, uncomfortable look passes shiftily over Sam's face. "I'm getting by, Cas. I don't- I just-" he stutters to a stop. "This is more important."

He's hiding something. Castiel is sure of that, even if he doesn't know what he's hiding.

Sam pats Castiel's shoulder, metal glinting on the buckle of an unfamiliar, rough leather bracelet on his wrist as he does. "It's going to be okay, Cas, we'll find him. I'll get him back."

Something about Sam isn't right, Castiel thinks, something other than the deep ache that both of them feel over Dean's disappearance. There's something unusual about the bracelet, some kind of energy...

Castiel grabs the hunter's hand and twists his wrist to get a better look at the leather, scowling once he identifies what is carved into the innocuous black band: _charms to ward off sleep_. He holds the wrist high, angel strength pinning him while he snaps the buckle, dangling the broken bracelet in front of Sam. "What is the meaning of this?"

The young hunter looks down guiltily, refusing to meet his eye.

Castiel drops the bracelet and clasps Sam by both shoulders, eyes blazing with fury. " Sleep is extremely important to the human body's function. Do you know dangerous this kind of magic is?" He gives him a frustrated shake. "You can't just make yourself go without sleep. You'll burn yourself out, literally."

Sam shrugs Castiel's hands off and turns away from the angel, muttering, "Dean is more important than missing a few naps."

Castiel grabs Sam and spins him back around. "I want to find your brother as much as you do, Sam, but you are important, too. Dean needs you to be strong to help him. _I_ need you to be strong to help him." He catches the hunter's eye with a fierce, firm stare. "Do you know how out of it you were when I arrived? You didn't even notice I was there! What if someone like Crowley showed up and got the jump on you? You can't save Dean if you can't even take care of yourself."

"That's what the wards on this place are for," Sam growls, twisting his arm to break Castiel's grip. "And Crowley's not going to jump me. I'm _fine_." He turns back towards the table with a huff, bending down to collect the broken pieces of the broken bracelet. "And I'm not stupid. It's only been a few days. I'll catch up later on-"

"Don't you _dare_ _lie_ to me." Castiel clutches Sam's elbow and locks it, bodily forcing him to step away from the table. "You're _not_ fine. You need food, sleep and a shower, and you _will_ stop now and get all three." He stares fixedly at Sam. "This is not a suggestion. This is an order. If I have to tie you to the bed to get you to obey me, I will do it."

A shiver visibly runs through Sam at that, and his eyes dilate slightly. _Interesting._

" _Go shower_ , Sam." Castiel puts an echo of the force he used to use to command angels into his words. " "And clean yourself _thoroughly_." He sniffs Sam again and grimaces. "Leave the clothes in the bathroom; they're too dirty to put on again. Meet me in your room when you are done."

All resistance leaves Sam with a shaky exhale. "Yes Sir," he murmurs, his cheeks flushing. "I understand."

_Sir?_

While Sam is showering, Castiel strips off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves and gets to work. He cleans the bunker, depositing the dirty plates and cups into the sink and clearing away the trash. Then he goes down to Sam's room and does the same, stripping the bed and carrying all the dirty clothes – which seems to be _all_ of Sam's clothes – down to the laundry. The broken bracelet goes directly into the trash.

The squalor is so very un-Sam-like. Perhaps a cry for help? Or a sign of something more serious being wrong?

Castiel holds his breath as he tosses Sam's clothes into the washer, ignoring the smell, and contemplates the idea. Sam is usually extremely neat and tidy. But right now, he seems lost, out of control over his own worst impulses.

Then again, Dean is usually around to help give Sam direction. For the last few weeks (and really, for a lot longer than that, given the Mark), Sam has been on his own... and Sam has never done well on his own.

For all that Sam wanted to have his own life, he's clearly always functioned better with direction. College has its own set of rules Sam could follow, and from a few exchanges between Dean and Sam that had legitimately baffled Castiel at the time, apparently Jessica was definitely the one who had "worn the pants" in their relationship. Then, after Stanford, Dean was in charge... and when Dean died, Sam fell apart until Ruby took control. Then Dean was back, and Sam was okay – well, except for the whole soulless thing. That was bad, until Dean figured it out and took control. And then when Dean was gone again in Purgatory, Sam fell apart again, until Amelia took control, and then later Dean was back. And now Dean is dead again.

The answer is so obvious, he doesn't know why it hasn't occurred to him before now. _Sam is out of control... because Sam needs someone to take control._

The idea invokes a strong kinship in Castiel. He remembers his days in the garrison, the _rightness_ of following orders, the comfort of obeying the commands of those who knew better than he did. The thought warms a fire in his belly he'd long thought extinguished. Since his turn at playing god, he's shied away from being a leader as much as possible. He doesn't want to run an army or rule over heaven, but maybe taking responsibility for just one man...?

It's been a long time since Cas has truly given orders that he believed in, but for Sam... for Sam, he would be willing to do that. To take control, give him a semblance of order again. Be a replacement Dean, at least until they get Dean back. It will mean he spends less time in the field searching for Dean, but they have an entire of network of friends already helping with that.

Yes, he thinks, stopping in the kitchen to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before heading back to Sam's room, he can make sure Sam eats, sleeps, and takes care of himself. He can take control of Sam. For Sam's own good, of course.

The thought is... unusually pleasing.

* * *

Sam turns the cold water on full blast in the shower, hoping it will help bring his raging libido under control. He's horrified and embarrassed at the way he'd behaved out there, ready to practically throw himself at Cas's feet. He's always found Cas attractive _(for a second, he's confused, he's never been into men... or maybe he has?)_  but entirely off-limits, and that was okay, for the best really. He has far more important things to focus on than his libido.

What is _wrong_ with him?

He can't argue with Cas – he does need sleep... but he doesn't dare _let_ himself sleep, let alone tell the angel why.

When he closes his eyes, the dreams are always there, unthinkable and unavoidable. Somehow his mind has gotten its signals crossed, taken his righteous and understandable need to save his brother from whatever has happened and turned it blasphemous. He dreams about rolling belly-up for his brother, and wakes up with uncontrollable, roving hands, his own fingers rebelling against his mind and relentlessly exploring the intimate places of his body he's never thought twice about before and can't stop thinking about now. He wakes up drooling from strange, half-remembered nocturnal appetites, his mouth longing for something to fill it.

He wakes up wanting his brother to fuck him. He wakes up wanting to be fucked.

And it's not just his brother. It's others, too, people whose faces he knows but fade before he can remember them when he wakes.

He's run every test he can think to see if it might be a curse, but everything has tested negative. He's searched for hex bags, ghosts, spirits, signs of possession… nothing. No matter how much he'd like to think it's something else at fault... logic says it's just him. His brain has just found some interesting and new way to break itself into little pieces, just when his brother needs him the most. And each time he sleeps, it seems to get worse.

Better to stay awake as long as possible.

Cas is also right. He _does_ need to shower. And shave. He knows it's probably just been a subconscious attempt to sabotage his brain's fixations, but no matter how filthy his dreams have become, there's no excuse for letting himself become unpleasant to be around.

_Clean yourself thoroughly_ , Cas had said.

He scrubs himself all over, soaping up every crevice carefully, and even using the fancy exfoliating scrub he saves for special occasions. It's not a special occasion, but it somehow feels very important now to prove to Cas that he was listening, and if there's one thing the mighty John Winchester taught him, it's that true obedience means listening to not just the letter of the law, but its spirit as well.

The thought of pleasing Cas, _obeying_ Cas, sends a strange jolt of pleasure running through him. He scrubs even harder, trying to carefully avoid thinking too long about why he is paying such particular care to certain parts of his anatomy. Which of course means that he can't think of anything else.

He shaves carefully afterwards, pleasantly surprised to find that there's not as much there to trim as he expected – lots of stubble, but nothing close to a full beard. On a whim, he trims back his underarms, then takes a pair of scissors to his hair to at least even up the split ends, then trims his nails so they look less ragged and unkempt.

The man who looks back at Sam in the mirror still looks tired and stressed, but he's a lot more presentable than the man who staggered in half an hour ago. He grabs his robe, wraps a towel around his hair and hurries back to his room. Hopefully he hasn't kept Cas waiting too long.

* * *

The moment he hears Sam footsteps in the hallway, Castiel's heart skips a beat in anticipation. He makes sure that he is standing straight, hands at his side – posture is important, he remembers, in asserting authority. Be kind – humans in general respond better to kindness – but firm.

The effect works. Sam opens the door, rushes in and then bolts to a stop when he sees Castiel, blushing slightly before straightening in kind, falling loosely into an at-rest position.

The angel lets the moment hang for a moment, looking at Sam from head to toe, then nods. "Much better, Sam. You did well."

The way the boy pinks up so thoroughly at the praise inspires Castiel in a way he'll have to think deeper about later. He walks closer to Sam, circling and inspecting him. "Tch- you're still a little damp."

Another, rosier flush at that.

"I've laid pajamas out for you, but first-" Castiel's not sure what possesses him to grab the towel off of Sam's head, letting his hair hang free, and continue, "let's get you all the way dry."

Something even more surprising seems to possess Sam. The hunter slumps forward, pressing his head into Castiel's hands so he can rub down his hair.

When Castiel finishes and steps back, Sam strips off his robe without hesitation, almost dropping it on the ground before a stern look from Castiel sees him instead hanging it back on its hook. He then returns to his place in front of Castiel, naked and slightly glistening, feet apart, hands held lightly behind his back.

Before Castiel can overthink himself, he takes the towel and begins to dry the last of the water off of Sam's skin, trying to keep the touch gentle but clinical. He's a little worried that the act might be unintentionally sexually stimulating, given the small groans Sam lets out almost involuntarily as the rough cloth brushes across his nipples. He doesn't want to give his charge-to-be the wrong impression, even if he does let the towel linger across Sam's happy trail as he works his way down. But albeit blushing furiously, Sam stays flaccid the whole time, even when the angel kneels down in front of him to rub down each leg.

He's glad Sam is not erect. It would make things very awkward, since Castiel has no interest in Sam's statistically larger-than-average penis. Although... now that he's thought about _that_ , he can't help but think about what it would be like if the situation were reversed. The thought of _Sam_ kneeling in front of him, slightly parted lips just inches away from his groin, lights an unexpected fire inside him.

It's strange, how strongly his body is responding to that, the thought of Sam leaning forward and pressing his face against Castiel's naked flesh, the way his beautiful hazel eyes would flick upwards, looking up at him for permission, the way his hair would feel wrapped around Castiel's fingers as he guided him forward.

Yes, the more he thinks about it, the more he... likes the idea. (A part of his mind flashes back to a darker time – _I'm your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord._ But that was then, and he isn't doing any of this for the power. He's doing this because Sam needs this. He's doing this to _help_ Sam.)

Castiel lingers over his boy's toes, taking a moment to calm his body down. He takes advantage of the position to breathe in quietly but deeply, enjoying the scent of Sam's skin. His nostrils flare at the clean natural musk of Sam's groin.

When Castiel stands up, he notices that Sam's eyes are closed, his head has lolled back exposing his neck, and he is rocking ever so slightly on his feet. His heart rate has increased – if it weren't for his soft cock, Castiel would think he bore all the biological signs of heavy arousal.

Perhaps he is making a mistake by keeping things platonic with Sam. With the exception of Dean, all of Sam's other caretakers had introduced a sexual component to their interactions with Sam. It had definitely helped reinforce their authority and Sam's willingness to comply.

He walks behind Sam – "arms up " toweling down his arms, enjoying the way the boy shivers at the feeling of Castiel's breath on his neck. For a moment, he's possessed by the insane urge to sink his teeth into the flesh and mark it. Instead, he moves to one side and lets his hand drop on the back of his boy's neck. "You're all dry now, Sam. That was very good of you, to let me take care of you like that."

Sam shudders and _whines._

Castiel grabs him by the shoulders in concern. "Sam? Are you okay?" The hunter is trembling, he realizes, hands balled into fists like he's trying to resist something, and then-

With a soft moan, Sam collapses down to his knees, twisting as he nuzzles – _nuzzles_ – against Castiel's thigh. "Cas, I can't – I'm sorry, I just-" His lips press against the fabric of Castiel's pants, slightly parted, kissing their way upwards. "I can't, Cas, I need, I want – Can I?"

If this is what Sam needs, Castiel thinks, it would certainly be wrong... not to help him.

"Yes, Sam," he says, "you may."

* * *

Sam's not sure if he's awake or asleep, or if it matters. Cas's permission is like a dam bursting, and everything he's been repressing comes flooding uncontrollably out. He's seen himself like this in a dream, he remembers, this or something like it, on his knees in front of Castiel, worshiping at his cock, which he knows will be perfect, long enough to press into the back of his throat, but not so thick that he can't breathe around it.

The angel groans when Sam unzips his pants. He lowers them and his underwear just enough to let his cock spring free, then swallows it down until his nose is pressed against the angel's pubic bone. Even the small bursts of pain from Cas's zipper rubbing against his face feels strangely good.

Sam can tell how much Cas likes it by the way he groans and flexes each time Sam's angles his head to let Cas drive his cock into his throat. It isn't long before Cas's beautiful, long fingers tangle in Sam's hair, holding him firmly in place. And then Cas is frantically fucking his face, holding Sam's head in position as he rams his cock in over and over, seemingly not caring when Sam chokes or tears up.

"Sam," Cas says brokenly, "tell me you want this."

There's no way Sam can answer, not with the pace of Cas's thrusts, so he just looks up at him and nods, trying to convey it all with his enthusiasm, running his tongue around Cas's member and humming as it plunges in and out of him.

It's bliss, Sam thinks, this feeling of being used, of being useful. For the first time in weeks, he feels floaty and relaxed, endorphins spreading through his body. He can't help but imagine how much better it would be if Dean were here too, behind him, pinning him down even further and fucking into him from behind. The angel is saying something, about direction and control and obedience, but Sam's too far gone to listen.

When Cas grunts and spasms, Sam wraps his mouth tightly around his cock and sucks. The angel's cum is salty, and slightly bitter, and over far too soon.

* * *

"My poor boy," Castiel murmurs. "I'm so sorry. You must have been so lost and confused these past weeks, trying to get by on your own." He tousles Sam's hair softly as the boy nurses the last few drops out of his cock. "You just can't get enough, can you? My poor lost, lonely little cockslut." Castiel isn't sure where the words come from – they just pop into his head, but it feels so right to say them, and he swears that he can see them sink into Sam and settle deep in his core. "You need my cock so bad, don't you? And you've been so good and obedient for me. Maybe I should let you keep it warm for me all night. What do you think?"

Sam shudders as even more pre-come drools out of his cock, joining the veritable puddle below him on the floor. He pulls back, letting Castiel's cock pop out of his mouth to beg, "Please–"

Castiel pushes Sam back, shifting his weight back onto his heels until he kneels in a beautifully subservient pose. Then he cups Sam's chin and lifts his face up to look him in the eyes. "I'll let you warm it, Sam, I'll give you everything you need, but you have to earn it by being my good boy."

He glances over at the sandwich he'd brought, all but forgotten after the shower, and imagines how beautiful and content Sam will look, delicately eating each bite he hand-feeds him as he sits at Castiel's feet.

"I'll stay here, and you can have my cock, and we'll find Dean together," and Sam practically melts under Castiel's hand when he says that, "-as long as you promise to obey me and trust me to take care of you. Do you understand?"

The boy nods eagerly, his eyes dropping to Castiel's rapidly refilling cock. "Yes, C-" a cough from Castiel, and he corrects himself quickly. "Yes, Sir."

"Good," Castiel says. "That's my good boy."

* * *

"Well," Crowley thinks from his invisible perch in the bunker, " _that_ escalated quickly." He watches as the angel settles in on the bed, arranging Sam between his legs so the boy can nurse on his cock while they both sleep.

"Not exactly the effect I was expecting the spell to create... but I _like_ it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter... back to Jared!


	4. Jared - Plot Twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara calls Jensen and Jared into her office to tell them about the new direction for Season 10.

Having Jeff back on the lot is a huge surprise, and an equally huge morale boost for the cast and crew. Jared's busy enough on set and after hours that it takes him far too long to wonder _why_ Jeff is still there – not until they're well into filming episode 3 of Season 10, and he and Jensen are sitting down with Sara to go over a last-minute script change.

"Great news!" Sara gushes the moment the door shuts behind them. "I know you boys were a little unhappy with the original story arc for this season, but I just got the green light to take the story in a new direction. It's going to require some rewrites, but I know you're both going to be thrilled by it all."

She pushes revised copies of the current script across her desk at them and sits back with a big smile.

Jensen's grin grows wider and wider as he flips through the new pages. "Is this for real?!"

Sara nods. "You bet your butt it is!"

Jared grabs his copy and sits back in his chair, shifting to find a comfortable position. He can't – no matter how he sits, the angle seems to force the plug Misha picked out for him this morning right against his prostate. He's not proud of his faulty cock, but he's found himself grateful more often than not that it stays limp and obedient in his trousers, especially since Mark prefers him to go commando. The crew has been more than accommodating to the changes his coworkers have introduced on set, but it would still be bad form to sit in front of their showrunner with an erection hard enough to pound nails.

The first couple of pages look identical, so Jared flips to the gold section in back, shooting furtive glances at Jensen every so often as he skims through the changes. The new stuff is… interesting. Maybe a little closer to something you'd see on HBO than the CW.

Finally, he clears his throat. "Excuse me, Sara, but what… what exactly is supposed to be happening here? Episode 3 is when Sam saves Dean and turns him human. We've practically got the whole episode shot – aren't we gonna fall behind schedule if we have to redo it?"

Sara grins, far too widely for Jared's comfort. "Well, yes, that was the original climax of episode 3, but the feedback we're getting from fans indicates they'd like a much longer run for Dean as a demon. We're still going to have the dramatic showdown between you two, but instead of Cas rescuing you, Dean's going to win. He doesn't kill you, though – he hits the wall with the hammer right next to you and then grabs your hair and slams your head against the wall, knocking you out. The episode ends with the bunker still on lock-down and the two of you trapped inside."

Jared flips to the very end of the episode, which ends with Dean chaining him up in the dungeon, and flushes at the thought of the entire Supernatural audience seeing him strung up like that.

Sara is practically vibrating with excitement. "In the next few episodes, Dean's going to keep Sam chained up in the dungeon and force him to drink his blood to corrupt him while he tortures him. And while Dean is turning Sam back into an addict, Cas will get to go play the hero and break into heaven to find Henry Winchester to get help, but get this – instead of Henry, he'll bring back _John_."

Jensen nudges Jared with his elbow. "Ain't that awesome, Jay? Our fans have been asking to get Jeff back for years."

Sara and Jensen are still talking, but Jared's stuck on the page he flipped open to.

> _DEAN locks the collar on Sam's neck with an ominous click._
> 
> _[CLOSE-UP ON LOCK SNAPPING SEAMLESSLY SHUT]_
> 
> _DEAN_
> 
> _It's for your own protection, Sam._
> 
> _[CLOSE-UP ON SAM'S EYES, WIDE WITH FRIGHT]_
> 
> _DEAN (O.S.)_
> 
> _Can't have you running around trying to mess things_
> 
> _up for me, now can I?_

Jensen laughs. "Oh man, Sara, this is great. Promise me I get to let Demon Dean off the hook here – you've gotta give me a least _one_ torture scene with Sammy all chained up at my mercy, right? If you want to give the fans what they want, well, we all know the fans love it when Sam gets tied up and hurt."

The look he gives Jared makes it clear that the fans aren't the only ones that love it.

It makes Jared all hot under the collar, too, the idea of being on tied up by Dean on camera. If the fans knew everything that goes on that the cameras _can't_ show... His ass clenches involuntarily, squeezing around the huge rubber intruder forcing it wide open.

"Oh, Sam will definitely get his scenes on the hook – literally, too, we've given the dungeon a few upgrades," Sara all but purrs. "The producers and I want you to go as wild and dark as you feel like, Jensen, so long as it's something Jared's okay with and something Sam could forgive him for once he's cured. Feel free to suggest ideas on the scripts, too, we've even left you some wriggle room for ad-libbing. We think the fan service is going to win the season for us."

"Yeah," Jared barrels ahead, "okay, I get the fan service, but really?" his voice cracks a little. "A collar?" He tosses the script down on the table, trying not to flush at the thought of being collared in front of the entire crew day after day. Jensen frowns at him, and he flushes, knowing he'll be getting spanked for that afterward.

Sara rubs her hands together. "That's the best part. It's not just any collar – it's a rune-inscribed demon collar, powered by a knight of hell himself. It's supposed to be magic, so the props department is making a hidden digital lock for it. It'll only come off – we've got a remote control to open it when Cas finds a way to unlock it with his grace, or at least render the runes inoperative."

Jensen smirks. "Someone should tell wardrobe to add a little dog tag that says 'bitch' on it to match."

Sara giggles. "I'll suggest it to them." She notices Jared's sour-lemon expression and pats him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Sam'll most likely get it off by the end of the season, but in the meantime, the collar will make him have to obey Dean's commands whenever they're in the same room. So, we'll have this great push/pull with Sam trying to capture Dean but keep himself safe at the same time, and meanwhile Dean will just toy with his brother whenever he feels like it. And even after he's cured, Dean will have to struggle with whether he can keep his brother safer if he leaves the collar on. The ratings are going to be through the roof!"

The expression on Jensen's face tells Jared exactly how that internal struggle of Dean's is going to go.

Out of nowhere, a hand falls heavily on Jared's shoulder, squeezing it. "I hope this doesn't scare you off the whole method-acting you were going to try out this season."

It's Jeffrey.

_Method what?_ Jared thinks. He wants to jump up and pull away from the fingers cupping the back of his neck, but his body betrays him, melting into the grasp and slumping down bonelessly. His brain tries to catch up fuzzily with the conversation – _when had he ever said anything about method acting?_ – but Jeff is barreling ahead, talking to Sara about the new plot for the season, and how happy he is to be back, and how Jared was hoping to really bring a new level to his character. The fans will probably love it, he says, if they see Jared out and about wearing the collar off-set, and Sara is agreeing. They'll "dig his dedication to his craft."

He thinks about being seen in public with a collar around his neck and a tag that tells people exactly what he is. It's not like he hasn't been paraded about in public wearing far more embarrassing things, but this is the first that the fans will see of it. And it won't end there, he knows – he'll be lucky if Misha doesn't put him on a leash and parade him around. The thought's as humiliating as it is hot.

Jared has no idea how he's going to get through the rest of this season. But that's not his problem anymore. He'll have Jensen and Jeff (and Misha, and Mark) there to guide him along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be irregular, as my crazy work schedule and nosy family permits, and will be nothing but unmitigated smut when they do occur.


End file.
